


Emilius, Greene & Bragg

by Nemhaine42



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Fluff, Gen, Lucius Malfoy & Severus Snape Friendship, Marauders Era (Harry Potter), Shopping, Wedding Planning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-30
Updated: 2020-10-30
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:48:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27281473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nemhaine42/pseuds/Nemhaine42
Summary: If Lucius knew about anything, Severus thought, it was the tightrope walk of high society, and clothes.
Relationships: Lucius Malfoy & Severus Snape, Lucius Malfoy/Narcissa Black Malfoy
Comments: 8
Kudos: 34





	Emilius, Greene & Bragg

**Author's Note:**

> Lucius and Severus being mates despite all their differences is *chef's kiss* as far as I'm concerned. And if you squint you may find a hint of a crush on Severus' part, of which Lucius remains ignorant, at least until they're much older ;)

_July, 1975_

Severus hadn’t expected to spend his Saturday morning sweltering in a posh fitting room, but there he was, on a little wooden stool, in front of an enormous looking glass, and trying on every variety of shirt, waistcoat, blazer, trousers and breeches that mankind ever invented. Everything seemed to tower over him in here; cupboards and cabinets that reached the ceiling, faceless mannequins who assumed everyone must be a solid six feet, a proprietor who seemed to have spent a good deal of his life being stretched on a rack. The immaculate cream carpet deadened all sound, of which there was little to begin with since Severus and Lucius were the only customers. 

Lucius had only managed to lure him out of his bed with the promise of being taken out for breakfast, and a lure was exactly what it had been. The last of his eggs had barely been past Severus’ tonsils before Lucius had whisked him away, taking him via side-long apparition to an obviously wealthy and fussy part of London. Severus had spent little time in wizard London beyond Diagon Alley and had, perhaps naively, assumed that the rest of it worked in the same manner: a partition, a crossover which demarcated magic from mundane. But the streets here had been one minute full of muggles - some of whom looked askance at Lucius’ turquoise embroidered waistcoat and knee-high boots - and the next minute nothing but wizards, in frock coats or robes or ostentatious hats, with scarcely the turn of a corner between them. 

This shop’s signage had revealed it to be “Emilius, Greene & Bragg, Tailors” and Lucius had pulled him inside and pronounced that they were to outfit Severus for the wedding. Lucius and Narcissa’s upcoming nuptials were not until October and although Severus could concede the sense in acquiring something to wear before the start of term, he failed to see why it had to be a blazingly hot summer’s day they chose to spend in the stuffiest room Lucius could find. In fact, Severus had hoped to get away with buying nothing more than a new tie, in order to disguise that he’d be wearing his school uniform, and in all honesty he’d expected to have to buy it second-hand. 

But Lucius would have none of it, and thrust Severus into the clutches of the tailor. He must have once been a very small man that had been stretched over a hat stand, and seemed to be neither Emilius, Greene nor Bragg, as Lucius addressed him as ‘Burford’ the entire time. He looked down at Severus with a pinched face, then positioned him on this little round stool in front of the mirror, and began running his knitting needle thin wand over Severus’ limbs guiding a tape measure and a quill that took notes. Every inch of him was measured, in every way conceivable. 

Lucius paid no mind to the invasion of Severus’ personal space, flicking through pattern books and occasionally firing off instructions to Burford about this cut or that fabric. Severus was consulted very little, merely poked and prodded, and stuffed into various garments, many of which were deemed unsuitable by Lucius before Severus could even take in the sight of them. He suffered this treatment for a good while, perched on his step and sweating in the stuffy heat. He wondered when he would be allowed to go for a smoke, or have a glass of water, or if he was going to get out of this at all. 

“Well, what do you think?”

Severus jolted a little at Lucius’ voice, finding that now he was being left to take in his reflection. Almost without noticing he had been put into the apparent culmination of Lucius’ and Burford’s efforts: black ankle boots with a short heel, black trousers, a white shirt with a high collar and large puffy sleeves, and a waistcoat that appeared black too at first glance, but upon closer inspection had subtle threads of silver woven through it. Severus had never in his life owned trousers that fit so well, and he turned to see his own bottom in the mirror, but he couldn’t help but think he looked a little like he belonged in an illustration of a Dickens novel, or a Jane Austin one. 

“I…” Severus faltered for words, unsure how he even felt about the getup as a whole, and looked pleadingly at Lucius for help. 

Lucius stepped forward and leaned in, the heeled boots and the step stool reducing much of their disparity in height. “What? Is it too tight round the old chap?” he asked, nodding down at the trousers. 

“No! I just…” Severus stamped down on his pride, sure he was blushing horribly, and hissed, “I can’t afford any of this.”

Lucius sighed dramatically and rolled his eyes. He turned to the tailor and asked, “do give us a moment, would you?”

The man excused himself to the back room and Lucius placed one hand on the back of Severus’ neck. Gentle, but a firm presence not to be ignored or underestimated. “Do you think I don’t know that? Neither of us has shit for brains, Severus, so we both know that _I_ will be the one paying for these. That’s why _I_ decided where to come today.”

“So I’m just a fucking charity case then?” Severus seethed.

Lucius smirked, moving his hand away from his neck and draping his arm over Severus’ shoulder. He turned to face the mirror, talking to their reflections: “think of it that way if you wish, but consider instead that if you turn up to my wedding in your school robes, or Merlin forbid, whatever passes for finery amongst muggles, everyone will wonder which gutter I plucked you from and why I didn’t do the decent thing and kit you out properly. A scruffy little ragamuffin reflects just as badly on me as on the muffin in question.”

Severus, his face scarlet and scowling, opened his mouth to reply with something crude and insulting, but Lucius continued. 

“Or! I buy some halfway presentable clothes for you to wear - for the rest of your life if you so choose - and nobody will take the slightest notice. All they’ll see is one of my old school chums and ignore you for the entire evening. Which I thought would suit you rather better, hm?”

Severus stood and stewed for a moment, trying to work out which was worse: being indebted to Lucius for what felt like the thousandth time, or sticking out like a sore thumb in a room full of influential purebloods. Malfoy was damnably right.

“Look, if you don’t _like_ these clothes, just say so and we’ll pick something else. I haven’t been baking in here all morning just to get you something you don’t like, have I?” 

Now that he looked, Lucius too was suffering in the warm, cloistered shop. He’d stripped off his jacket, and rolled up his sleeves, his top button was undone and his cravat stuffed into his trouser pocket. He looked a bit more like the Lucius he’d first met at Hogwarts, with a sort of orchestrated carelessness that Severus quite liked looking at. 

Sensing that Severus was giving in, Lucius looked away from the mirror and waggled his eyebrows at him directly. “Are the trousers too tight then?”

“No. I like the trousers. And the boots. But I don’t like these sleeves, they’re too much. Can I have just normal sleeves?”

“Of course you can, Muffin,” Lucius cooed, pinching Severus’ cheek in mockery. 

“' _Muffin_?!’ Fuck you, Malfoy!” Severus swatted at Lucius, who cackled in response.

Now energized by Severus’ acquiescence he turned to the tailor, who must have been a master of apparition to have appeared so silently behind them. “Burford, old boy, why don’t we try a slim fit on these sleeves? And perhaps the entire ensemble ought to be black? Forego the contrast and let the details speak for themselves. I think so.” 

“Of course,” Burford replied and delicately swished his wand over Severus’ shirt, which transfigured itself into a soft charcoal colour and its sleeves lost their volume. 

No longer distracted by the Regency school boy in the mirror, Severus could finally appreciate how well-fitted the rest of the outfit was. His shoulders looked broader and his waist was tiny! In a good way! Just maybe there was something in this sartorial song and dance routine. If Lucius knew about anything, Severus thought, it was the tightrope walk of high society, and clothes. 

“Much better. Happy now?” Lucius asked, going back to his page in the pattern books. “So, Severus, spats - yay or nay?”

Lucius held up the book, showing a photograph of a man modelling spats over his shoes, preening and posing back and forth on the page. 

“Yeah, alright. I’ll give ‘em a go.”

  
  



End file.
